Sunday, June 27, 2010

Out of Place

Out of place among my careful hardware collection you’ll find a small drawer of rocks. There’s a piece of shattered shale I picked from the base of Niagara Falls when our class hosted those kids from Alberta, two chips off Mount Royal from my week in Montréal with Joanne, four pieces of the crumbling concrete Louise brought back from the fall of the Berlin Wall, and a small piece of brick I picked from the street the day after they bombed the Morgentaler Clinic.
    Out of place, you’ll find all this rubble, so you might as well throw it away.

Photo ©2011 by Jim Malcolm.
Posted by Roy Schulze at 6:00 PM
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12 comments:

  1. Roy SchulzeFebruary 5, 2012 at 1:07 PM

    Rewritten for Magpie Tales 103.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Tess KincaidFebruary 5, 2012 at 2:01 PM

    I collect bits of stone and bone as well...meaningless to everyone else...

    ReplyDelete
  3. Laurie KolpFebruary 5, 2012 at 4:53 PM

    Very clever, Steve.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Other MaryFebruary 5, 2012 at 5:01 PM

    A unique response. Not out of place at all. :o)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Brian MillerFebruary 5, 2012 at 11:34 PM

    without the memories to go with each, they will not see it as much treasures as you ...surely

    ReplyDelete
  6. Susan AndersonFebruary 6, 2012 at 11:53 AM

    I love my found treasures. I even have a special box to house them.

    =)

    ReplyDelete
  7. UnknownFebruary 6, 2012 at 5:18 PM

    I have a vase of rocks on my desk. One is a bit of brick left from the rubble of the factory where my great grandfather worked in Scotland. Rocks have their own special energy and spirit and so does your poem. Thank you for sharing it.

    ReplyDelete
  8. WanderFebruary 6, 2012 at 7:34 PM

    I have a poem that is similar to this...Thank you for this

    This is my mag post http://wanderwithoutbeinglost.blogspot.com/2012/02/grave-so-fine.html

    Buckets 7/22/11 9:46 pm
    Sitting forlorn in the end of a nonfunctional driveway
    Rocks all types from value to scrap
    Stones all alone but for the bucket next
    Treasure mine eye sees only gems
    Wonder under the chaff and slag
    Many see naught but scrap
    Buckets full of dross left to me, given
    Horded, held in trust
    Gems I see, scraps and slag and gravel
    For you are all they could be.
    The buckets speak to me for you garbage is all you can see
    They come with love from my heroes
    Gifted to me

    Christopher M McQueeney 2011

    Wander

    ReplyDelete
  9. Doctor FTSEFebruary 7, 2012 at 1:52 PM

    An original view of the prompt. Thanks for sharing.

    ReplyDelete
  10. HelenaFebruary 8, 2012 at 4:03 PM

    I liked this....you rocked it to us!

    ReplyDelete
  11. hyperCRYPTICalFebruary 9, 2012 at 10:12 AM

    A clever write - our little treasure are meaningless to other - and that's why they're ours!

    Anna :o]

    ReplyDelete
  12. CadFebruary 10, 2012 at 6:33 AM

    Interesting variation on this week's Mag theme.

    ReplyDelete

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